Not Okay, But Alright
by selbokar
Summary: If someone was to tell Yao from two years ago that in a very short amount of time he would end up starving in the woods with none other then Ivan Braginski, he would have laughed very hard. [zombie apocalypse, human names used (also I probably didn't write this very well but whatever, I think you'll get the idea I was trying to show)]


**This story probably actually doesn't make any sense, but I wrote it late last night, so whatever. Even I don't know what it's really about.**

If someone was to tell Yao from two years ago that in a very short amount of time he would end up starving in the woods with none other then Ivan Braginski, he would have laughed very hard.

He wasn't laughing now.

Well... that was a lie. He was laughing humorlessly as he was hefted through the deep, dark and barren woods, supported only by Ivan's enormous form. "Y- you know for a R- Russian, y- you're pretty b- bad at c- carrying me," he joked, his vision clouded by the hot pain that was threatening to make him black out. _But I can't black out, if I black out Ivan will have to drag me, and _then_ where will we be? Not very much further, that's where._

Yao continued pushing along with his not-broken leg, clinging tightly onto his Russian friend's good shoulder with all his might, knowing there was only a little way remaining until they reached their cave, which they'd called home for nearly two weeks.

Nobody had anticipated the apocalypse to happen like this. Well... Alfred had said zombies several times, but even _he_ didn't _really_ think that would happen. Everyone always laughed it off with a wave of the hand and a punch to the shoulder. But now... now things were different. A disease that caused the flesh to rot and the brain to go dead suddenly swept across the world, taking out people and countries alike.

Roderich and Elizaveta had taken up refuge with Gilbert, who (for reasons unbeknownst to anyone) had built a bunker designed specifically for a zombie apocalypse, stocked full of supplies to last himself and several others quite a long while. He sent out word that the other countries should come to safety, but his communications had been cut off before anyone could _actually_ figure out where he was.

Francis and Arthur managed to get to Matthew's house, shocked when they were hustled inside and told to gather the food in large garbage bags to take down into _Matthew's_ bunker. "Gilbert had me build it. I thought the guy was crazy, but turns out he was right," he'd commented as he slung a double barreled shotgun over his shoulder. The two older countries were surprised at the younger, usually gentle country's preparedness, their surprise only becoming greater when he shot one of the zombies in the head from his kitchen. The zombie was nearly fifty feet away. The three locked down in the bunker, Arthur pleading to wait and call Alfred, but Matthew couldn't, he wanted to, but he couldn't. His house was already being overridden by zombies in the first place.

Feliciano had been with Ludwig when it began, the two of them locked up in the German's house. The poor little Italian was shaking and crying the whole time, pressed against a wall in the closet. Ludwig sat next to him, an arm holding him closely and the other holding a gun out to ward off any attackers. Neither slept for several days, and they were incapable of defending themselves when the zombies came to attack. Both their eyes had been flickering shut when the door to the closet was ripped off and a greyish creature bit down hard on Ludiwg's shoulder.

He awoke immediately and shot the thing, jumping up and shooting the incoming creatures as best as he could. The disease was working it's way into his system, and he could feel it, so he grabbed Feliciano up by the collar, kissed him, thrust his extra gun into the young man's hands and told him to run. Feliciano was gone by the time Ludwig shot himself in the head, not willing to succumb to the horrible fate that awaited him.

Feliciano didn't make it far. He ran helplessly in the woods for a long while before tripping over a root and throwing out his knee. He couldn't walk, but he didn't want to die, so he dragged himself along until he came across a disease ridden Alfred. The American was laying against a tree, his arm severed at the elbow and bandaged sparingly with his tie. Feliciano asked him what happened, and Alfred explained that when he'd been bitten he immediately cut off the infected part. It had stopped him from becoming a zombie but didn't stop the less harsh effects of the disease from consuming his body. In the end, the two died peacefully, still leaning against the pine tree after who knows how long.

Lovino and Antonio had stumbled upon the Nordics in their attempts to get away from a hoard of zombies, and the friendly blondes took them into their team immediately. They hopped towns around the country, gathering supplies and fighting off the undead like there was no tomorrow. That is... until Antonio was bitten on the way out of a town by a zombie they thought they'd slain. He begged and begged until one of the Nordics (Denmark, I believe) finally agreed and shot him through the head. Word has it that Lovino hasn't spoken a word since that happened.

Yao had been walking home when he spotted the first zombie.

It had scared the shit out of him, and he ran home to get a gun. Yao had thrown open his front door, only to find two or three zombies stumbling around his house. As soon as they spotted him, they began to walk toward him, faster then he'd seen in the movies. Yao ran as fast as he could away from that place, and raided the local gun shop.

He'd been on his own for a while, scarcely eating and sleeping even less, until one day his gun was ingested by one of the zombies. _That's just cruel_, he'd thought to himself as he took off in a run to try and get away from the foul beasts. Soon, however, he found himself hunkered down in a dark alleyway, being converged upon by the grey, rotting zombies.

He thought it was the end. He thought he was going to die. But suddenly, like a ridiculously tall and creepy angel from above, Ivan had burst his way into the alley, shooting the zombies down with two handguns. He'd offered a hand to Yao with a vague smile. "I have extra guns, comrade," he'd told him with a quirk of the eyebrow.

That was Ivan's way of saying, _I need somebody with me, please come._

Yao had gone with him. There had been no question about it. The tall Russian needed the moral support, and the grumpy Chinese man needed the muscle. They made a perfect team. A year and a half passed, the world drying out and seeming to be in a constant fall-like state. Water was minimal, food was sparse, and nearly everyone was dead.

Word had it that Belarus had started a heavily defended camp like place for people who needed refuge from the apocalypse, but Yao and Ivan had no intentions of going there, no matter how hungry and tired they were. Someone had gotten in touch with Gilbert, after a long time of hearing nothing but static on his radio, and they were pleased to hear that he, Elizaveta, and Roderich were _all_ still alive, but running low on supplies. (It was a shocker that they hadn't run out at this point)

It had been a particularly breezy day when Ivan and Yao had been taking a few cans of non-perishable food from a grocery store when the Russian man suddenly spun around and shot at a zombie that had come out of seemingly nowhere. The two men had taken off in a sprint, a single can of food stuffed in Ivan's coat, to try and get out of there.

They'd nearly lost the zombies at the edge of the woods when Ivan fell hard on his right arm, cracking against the hard ground with a loud curse word in Russian. Yao saw the zombies begin to catch up with them, and so he dragged the heavily cursing man to his feet and shouted at him to keep moving. "I'm moving, I'm moving, comrade," he breathed, trying to sound tough.

At last, they lost the zombies, and had luckily found a cave to stay in for the night. Ivan had slid down the cold, rocky wall as Yao investigated to make sure it wasn't full of zombies, and kept his eyes shut, muttering Russian swears under his breath.

When the Chinese man had found no trace of zombies in the cave, he set up a barricade of rocks, dirt, and tree branches to seal off the entrance to the cave. Once it was nearly pitch black inside the place, he started a fire in the middle, occasionally glancing up with worry at Ivan, who was sweating profusely as he cradled his arm and cursed quietly.

At long last, their hideout was completed, and Yao scooched on his knees over to where Ivan was still sitting, his eyes rolled back in his head. "Ivan?" he prodded the Russian man's left shoulder with his finger, not receiving any response. "Ivan?" Yao repeated, louder, with worry straining his voice worse then it had been before. "Prosnut'sya, vy slaby zadnitsu suka!" he shouted into Ivan's ear, slapping the shoulder he'd fallen on harshly.

Ivan screamed, his eyes flying open. "Svyatoye der'mo , tovarishch!" he panted, his face contorted with pain. "That hurt..." his voice had dropped to a hoarse whisper now, and he was breathing heavily.

"Ivan, you have to take your coat off you, see what you did to your arm," Yao told him in a piteous voice, still squatting beside him. The Russian said nothing, he just removed his hand from it's place on his injured arm and wiggled out of that side of his large tan, mud stained trench coat. He then held his breath and clenched his eyes shut, pulling his coat off of his other arm with no more then a high pitched squeak. Luckily for him, he didn't have to take off another layer, because he was wearing no more then a short sleeved shirt underneath.

The damage was a lot worse then Yao had imagined. Ivan's entire arm was bruised blue and purple, large streaks of road rash having torn through the coat and into his arm. His wrist looked... _wrong_, bent out of shape and the bones seemed to be sticking in two different directions under his skin. And his shoulder was misplaced as well. "Gǒu shǐ," he muttered under his breath.

Yao was no doctor. He didn't know how to preform CPR. He couldn't tell if someone had a concussion or not. Hell, he didn't even have a clue how to properly tie a tourniquet, so there was no way he was going to be able to straighten Ivan's shoulder out. "Um, I'm just going to bandage you up. I... I think we have enough for... for your entire arm," he stammered, crawling over to both kindle the fire and get the first aid kit he had in his bag.

They did have enough bandages, and Yao managed to create a makeshift sling for his friend, who didn't complain once throughout the entire ordeal. When the Chinese man had finished, they sat there in silence for a long while, Yao poking at the fire with a stick and Ivan resting his head against the wall, his face glowing in the light of the flame.

After a long while, he spoke in a shaky and hoarse voice, "Thank you, comrade. I... I greatly appreciate what you have done for me, because you did not have to." Yao was surprised by this sudden gratitude, though he did suppose he deserved it. But he just smiled slightly at Ivan, whose eyes were cracked open, and he gave the fire another poke.

"I'll always be there to help you, silly," he replied, and Ivan gave him a small, strained smile. Yao wasn't sure what came over him, but he found himself muttering in addition, "I do love you, after all..."

He was horrified when it came out of his mouth. _Oh my God I said that out loud, didn't I? Ivan is _never_ speaking to me again!_ But when he looked up, his face beet red, he found that the Russian had fallen asleep against the cave wall already. Yao wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

* * *

The next two weeks were a living hell for both of them. Not only were they unable to find a good source of water for a long time, but Ivan couldn't fire his gun because of his arm. This left Yao to do all the defense, and Yao was not a very good shot, even after all this time.

He ended up going down hard on his ankle in the woods, twisting it as he hit the ground. Luckily, Ivan saw the man's situation and picked him up under the arms using only his left arm, dragging him back toward their cave.

Eventually, they lost the zombies, and they were close, _so close _to the cave. Yao laughed humorlessly, looking up at his friend with a dull smile. "Y- you know... for a Russian, you're pretty bad at carrying me," he joked. Once he said it, he wasn't even sure what the joke was supposed to mean. But it was said, and he was in pain, so there wasn't any taking it back. "Man!" he exclaimed breathily, "If a twisted ankle feels this bad, I can only imagine how bad your arm had-to've hurt!"

Ivan couldn't respond; he was too busy focusing on not blacking out before they reached the entrance to their cave, which had a makeshift door on the front. Once inside, he started the fire back up and searched through Yao's bag for bandages. He found them, eventually, and bound up the smaller man's ankle, not speaking the entire time.

After a long while, he finally collapsed against the cave wall, and rubbed his eyes with his non-injured hand. The pain had turned into a dull throb at this point, and Yao sat awkwardly across the fire from Ivan, who he wasn't sure was asleep or not. "Ivan?" he called across the short distance. The man's eyes opened, and he smiled tiredly. "Thank you. It probably would've been easier for you to just leave me for the creatures. But you helped me, so thank you."

Ivan closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them back up and speaking softly. "I could not leave the one I love to die, you of all people should know this," he commented under his breath. Yao's eyes went wide as Ivan closed his, and his heart raced.

"Y- you love me?" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with confusion and shock. Ivan nodded gently and kept his eyes closed.

"One sided love _is_ difficult, however I am quite adept at not telling people I care about them, so was only slightly harder then usual," he told Yao quietly. The Chinese man was shocked, and didn't know what to say. So he simply shrugged.

"Well that is dumb, because I love you too," he responded, trying to seem nonchalant. Ivan smiled and nodded.

"Das good, I've never been loved before," he commented with a cheerful tone in his tired voice. After a moment it seemed he'd drifted off to sleep, and soon Yao had too, his heart racing with exhilaration and joy.

_He loves me too..._

* * *

They had to ditch the cave.

It was soon discovered by the zombies and there was no way they could continue staying there with their current injuries in consideration. So the two of them stumbled through the woods for hours, trying to avoid the terrifying greyish creatures, using all their will and strength to continue hobbling on.

Eventually, night fell, and they were still running, out of breath and sweaty. The night had grown cold, and they hadn't built a fire. Yao collapsed against a tree, shivering and breathing heavily. The ground felt wet. _We won't be able to start a fire. There's no way we can..._ He moaned to himself. _It's so cold..._

He suddenly felt something drape over him, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that Ivan had removed his large coat and put it on top of his companion, and was now plunking to the ground. Yao looked at him with tired confusion. "Ivan, you're going to freeze. Put it back on," he protested weakly. The blonde shook his head, rubbing his eyes with his hand.

"I'm not going to do that, comrade," he responded, his voice hoarse. Yao's brow furrowed with frustration. "I thought you should know that I love you very much, and that I received communication in last town that we are not far from Gilbert. He will keep you safe, comrade," Ivan told Yao with a smile.

"Well that's fine and dandy, but what about you? He'll help you too, right?" asked the dark haired man as he sat forward with concern. Ivan shook his head, taking a shallow breath.

"I am dying, comrade. I have been for nearly week now," he told Yao, who stiffened, feeling his cheeks getting hot. "There is no way to help me so I told him to help you." The Chinese man's chin quivered as Ivan collapsed on the ground, falling backwards with a thud.

Yao let out a choked sob and crawled awkwardly over to his friend, who was still breathing, but not by much. "You cannot die, Ivan, you cannot die. I will not let you," he trembled, and Ivan smiled at him.

"Will you take my hand, comrade?" he requested quietly. Yao nodded and picked up his friend's cold hand in his own. "Thank you."

There was silence for several minutes, until Ivan looked up at the sky, visible through the large break in the trees where they were, and smiled. "Look," he whispered, "Is snowing. Just like in Russia."

Just as Yao looked up, he felt Ivan's hand go slack in his own. His head snapped back down and his mouth fell open. "Ivan?" he demanded, tears welling up in his eyes. "Ivan?!" There was no response. Yao dropped his head down on his friend's chest, holding onto him tightly. He cried for several minutes, knowing the sound would most likely attract zombies, but he didn't care.

At some point, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and the soft voice of Elizaveta spoke into his ear. "Come with me, darling, it'll be alright." Her voice barely registered, but he felt someone's strong arms picking him up and swinging him so he was held bridal style. The person who was holding him said in a distant voice, "Roderich, get Ivan's scarf. I'm sure Yao will want it."

Then the world went black.

* * *

Yao was sitting dully on a cot in Gilbert's bunker, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He'd been there for several days, unconscious for the first few, and under the medical care of Roderich Edelstein for the next. He'd been cleaned up and taken care of, but there was a dead look on his face the entire time, as if someone had sucked the very life force out of him.

There was the sound of the cot squeaking, telling Yao that someone had sat down next to him, but he didn't give them any mind. He continued staring blankly at the opposite wall, his face solemn. "Hey," spoke a voice. It had a German accent. _It's Gilbert_, he registered. "You know, I was alone when this shit mess started. I was _so scared_, and I didn't know what to do, but when Roderich and Livvy showed up, I just... something just _clicked_, and I wasn't scared anymore."_  
_

Yao was vaguely looking at Gilbert, who was sitting at an awkward angle on the cot. "There was somebody else here with us for a while. I mean... he wasn't here for long, but I _did_ supply him with some guns. He was a sweet man, and I wish I could've got him to stay. But one day, he woke up... and he was..." Gilbert's gaze trailed to the ground. "He was sick. But not the kind of sick that you can fix. He was... really sick. And the first thing he did was tell me he had to go and get you."

The Prussian laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. "And I just thought... maybe if I'd made him stay, he wouldn't have died. Maybe if I'd kept him here until we figured out what was wrong with him, he could've been saved. But... Ivan was always a man of his own will, I don't think there was any way I could have possibly convinced him to stay."

They were both silent for a long while, before Gilbert said quietly, "He loved you, you know. He always talked about you. How _strong_ you were, and how _brave_ you were, how _considerate_ and _kind_ you always were to him. He was absolutely determined to find you, and bring you back so you could be safe here, and... for a while I thought he could do it. I thought he'd be able to get you both back here alive, and we could all be a big dysfunctional family for the rest of the apocalypse. But... then the first year went by, and I sort of gave up on him, you know?"

Yao still hadn't spoken, he just let Gilbert talk. He was taking every word in and feeling each one pang dully against his heart. "Then I got his call, and I was... I was _so sure_ he'd be able to make it back, but... but he told me that he wasn't going to make it and we should find you instead," he shook his head with a sigh. "I'm _so, so_ sorry, Yao."

The Chinese man pulled his blanket closer around him. "It wasn't your fault," he muttered under his breath. Gilbert looked slightly surprised that Yao had spoken up, but he smiled at him nonetheless. "Ivan was stupid, and stubborn, and there was nothing you could've done. There was nothing anyone could've done."

The Prussian rubbed Yao's shoulder comfortingly, and stood up. "Want me to help you to the kitchen? We just restocked," he offered. Yao nodded slightly, clambering to his feet with the help of the white haired man. "By the way, Roderich grabbed this before he and Livvy brought you back," he added, helping Yao over to a box and pulling out a long scarf. It probably used to be white, but even after thorough washing, it was still stained with dirt and soot. It was Ivan's scarf.

"Thank you," Yao said quietly, taking the scarf in the hand that wasn't holding onto Gilbert. He slung it around his neck and wrapped it several times. "Thank you."

And as they hobbled into the kitchen together, greeted with smiles and warm wishes from Elizaveta and Roderich, Yao realized that things would be alright.

Not better, but alright.

* * *

**Prosnut'sya, vy slaby zadnitsu suka - **Wake up, you little bitch

**Svyatoye der'mo , tovarishch - **Holy shit, comrade

**Gǒu shǐ - **Holy shit

***NOTE***

**I used google translate for these phrases, so they're probably wrong.**


End file.
